


Solid Ground

by Arithanas



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected visit lead Rollo to wonder about were his life was heading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solid Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oneiriad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneiriad/gifts).



> Many thanks to elfwreck for the extensive beta work!

The best thing about own a tannery was that it could not be build on solid ground.

The sound of small feet drumming on the boards alerted Rollo and he slid away from the warm body in his bed without quenching his thirst. There were things more important than some warm thighs and soft arms when his nephew paid him a visit. The girl's disappointed pout made no impression on him. His shirt could wait just as much as the wench; when those little feet drummed on the boards, Rollo knew that was the herald of the only important thing on Earth.

"Rollo!"

Bjorn's voice was still strident and high-pitched; he lacked some winters before time would come for him to fight and plunder, to get into a boat and raid with the best. Rollo lifted the crude skin, in the process of being tanned, that he used as a partition between his ever-soft bed and the area where he keep his pelts and leather. The boy was standing in the middle of the workshop, mouth agape and eyes wide, as he used to do every time he visit Rollo at Kattegat when he was unable to believe there were so many animals with so many different pelts. Rollo smiled and wondered if Ragnar ever noticed how much that boy looked like the runt Ragnar used to be.

"Hey, you!" Rollo shouted and materially lifted the boy high off the floor.

Bjorn laughed, not a cheerful, crystalline laugh but one that sounded like silver coins in a chest, like the blades colliding one against other. Odin! That boy was born to the battle, Rollo thought as Bjorn’s jittery kicks impacted against his solid midriff, even so those boots made less damage than hail on a boat.

“Hi, Rollo,” Bjorn said once the amusement of their greeting subdued to some sparse panting.

“So, you finally ran away and came to me to live the good life?” Rollo asked, putting Bjorn’s  little boots over the floor. He considered that soon some bear skin might be set apart to supply safe footwear for those constantly growing feet.

“Nah, I’ll stay with dad.” Bjorn said it so casually that Rollo couldn’t find a way to get mad being not chosen.

“Well, when you get bored of living with the second-best choice, just let me know.”

“Ragnar is not the second best choice, Rollo.” Bjorn was talking to him without the courtesy of looking at him, but that was just fine with Rollo.

“He’s not?” Rollo taunted the boy while he inspected his uncle’s assortment of knives. Of course Rollo wouldn’t dare to stop his nephew from getting acquainted with such fine steel, but Lagertha would have his rocks on a string if Bjorn was returned to her lacking a finger.

"No. Lagertha is." Bjorn picked up a curved knife which Rollo used to strip flesh from skin. It was sharper than most swords.

"Well..." Rollo took Bjorn's wrist and gently pried the knife from the child's fingers. "Don't let her know that or she'll get mad as a bear with rotten teeth."

"You think?"

"May Odin never left me partake the feast of the Valhalla if I lie."

Bjorn eyes were big with awe and his little feet drummed once more on the slightly parted boards.

"So, to what I do owe the pleasure of your visit, Bjorn?" Rollo took his eyes from the boy as he hung the knife out of his reach.

"Lagertha brought a goat to the market."

His voice was trailing and that made Rollo stand up in attention; knives were not the only dangers his shop had to offer. Bones and weapons were scattered around the shop, every one of them as dangerous as his trade tools.

"It was fat enough for the knife. Ready for the table."

Bjorn chattered absentmindedly as he reviewed the pelts and leathers while his eyes wandered off with the disinterest of the untrained. Rollo confirmed once again that it was hard to get mad with the boy.

"A good goat means good money," a sultry voice said beside Rollo, and a fragile hand was placed on his bare shoulder.

"I know, woman."

Rollo meant no disrespect, mostly because maybe he could still have another chance with this young fisherwoman, but before any of the grownups could utter another sound the boy spoke, in harsh tones.

"Yes, woman, men are talking!"

That selection of words was rough and certainly strange on this kid’s lips. For a moment Rollo wondered if there was something that Ragnar was overlooking while raising his son, but that didn’t concern him too much--it was not his place to address the shortcomings of his brother--but surely that was a kind of behavior he didn’t want in his shop. He kissed the hand on his shoulder before tearing himself apart from those arms to give his undivided attention, once again, to the child.

“You know, Bjorn, insulting a woman is not a good bet to make.” Rollo put his hand on Bjorn. “You will never know when a woman works with knives all day long.”

“And that will make any difference?”

“It makes an important difference .” Rollo guided the child to the front door. “It doesn’t matter how strong you are; a knife-wielding woman could lay you out without even breaking a sweat.”

“No way, Rollo!”

“Protest all you want, little one.” Rollo patted his blond head. “Talk better to women or Lagertha might hear you and cut off your ears!”

“She would never do that!”

Rollo smiled and let the cool morning air caress his naked chest as the village stirred to its habitual tasks. There were barter deals being closed, women strutting on the packed earth as they took advantage of the early spring and the meager warmth the sun provided while they carried the children born in the dead of the winter.  Soon the sun would grow stronger and it would be time to plan the next raid and acquire the much-sought plunder. Rollo’s hand began to itch when he felt the time to wield the ax was approaching. His gaze stumbled upon Lagertha and his heart ached in longing for things that would never be.

“She would never do that, right; but she wouldn’t be happy, either.” Rollo slapped Bjorn back playfully. “Be a man, young one, and see no one takes advantage of your mother.”

Bjorn’s small feet drummed on the steps as he climbed down; Rollo’s eyes followed the child until his little hand hooked on Lagertha’s.

The worst part of his life was that he would never build something until he got some solid ground under his feet, and he knew the woman inside his house would never provide it.


End file.
